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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26702050">Hank: Tense [Path Unlocked]</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/RalphTime/pseuds/RalphTime'>RalphTime</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angry Hank Anderson, Bottom Connor, Dirty Talk, Dominance, Face-Fucking, Happy Ending, Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mild Angst, Mildly Dubious Consent, Objectification, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Sex, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rough Sex, Smut, Top Hank Anderson, Wire Play</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:49:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,409</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26702050</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/RalphTime/pseuds/RalphTime</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-revolution, deviant Connor and Hank remain colleagues and roommates. Connor’s realisation that he’s aroused by seeing Hank angry leads him to make choices that threaten to ruin their relationship. Or start a whole new one.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hank Anderson/Connor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>79</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Hank: Tense [Path Unlocked]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>New chapters to be added as and when my depression un-cuffs me from this radiator<br/>- Mildly Dubious Consent tag because Hank makes a bold as fuck first move but Connor is all about it<br/>- Hank Big</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>September 4th 2039</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The air in the kitchen hummed. The gentle snoring of the dog in his bed, the uneasy whirring beneath the Connor’s chassis, and the tense, unbroken silence from the Lieutenant seemed to blend in the warm night. A thick burning smell- the clutch from the long suffering Oldsmobile- lingered Connor’s clothing long after they’d both come inside. Hank was where he always was after a tough day: sulking on his couch, discarded jeans strewn across the floor where he’d taken them off before sitting down. His pale eyes stayed glued to the glow of the television, even as he reached forward to fill his glass with whiskey for the second time. He placed the bottle back on the coffee table and sunk deep into the couch cushions.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Usually the Lieutenant would berate Connor for standing motionless like this, wide brown eyes boring a hole in his partner’s temple. But tonight it seemed like Hank had tuned him out completely. The android quietly made his way across the kitchen into the living room to pick up Hank’s jeans- if he didn’t put them in the laundry they’d sit there until next week. Hank didn’t react to his movement, and something about this grated on Connor. Truth be told, he’s been angry since they left the crime scene. As angry as he was with himself for acting so irrationally, he was angrier still with the Lieutenant for his reaction. And now he was just going to sit and drink himself into a deep sleep, as if Connor didn’t exist? It was infuriating. An optional task swung into his vision, and without thinking Connor completed it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Get Hank’s Attention</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He reached down with his free hand and took hold of the glass of whiskey. Before Hank could react, he had lifted it to the older man’s eye level and tipped the glass upside down. Hank swore and jumped in his seat as whiskey pooled in his lap, soaking his boxers and the thick thighs beneath. As he jumped, his leg hit the underside of the coffee table, toppling the half full bottle of Black Lamb onto its side. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Connor placed the glass beside the upturned bottle and hurried to the bathroom to dispose of Hank’s jeans, leaving his partner cursing on the couch. He shut the bathroom door behind him, slinging the jeans into the hamper and grabbing hold of the sink to steady himself. His breathing had been mostly aesthetic before deviating, but he was surprised to find his chest rapidly rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. A lot of his own behaviour surprised him these days. He looked up into the mirror above the sink, and made uneasy eye contact with his reflection. He’d let this go too far. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It had all started a few months ago. Connor’s deviation had opened up an endless and dizzying world of emotions and sensations. Arousal had been the most confusing for him. He’d realised soon after moving in, that his feelings for the Lieutenant were far from professional, but the relationship- whatever the hell it was now- was far too precious to jeopardise because of a few urges. For a while he’d been satisfied admiring him from a distance. Subtly recording images of Hank’s strong hands wrapped around the steering wheel or the way his silver hair shone when the sun hit the windows in the right place at exactly two forty-five  each afternoon. Then everything had changed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They were at work when it first happened. Roughly a month ago Markus had alerted them to an alarming number of missing android cases, and progress was slow at first. Hank had been sat back in his desk chair, squinting at the monitor, Connor perched delicately on his partner’s desk. They’d finally caught a lead in the form of a name, and now they had an address to go with it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll send some uniforms over to check the place out” Hank had said, scrolling through Andronikov’s extensive criminal record. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No need, Lieutenant” Conno has replied, already hopping off the desk and turning to leave “I’m perfectly capable of-“ </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That’s as far as he’d managed to get. Suddenly Hank’s fingers were wrapped around his tie and yanking him back until the Android was doubled over in front of the desk chair, his eyes inches from the Lieutenant’s</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span> Con.” He hadn’t heard Hank’s voice this deep and commanding since before he’d deviated. The sound seemed to vibrate down his spine and pool in his abdomen. He’d felt his cheeks flush unexpectedly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know you think you’re hot shit, but I’m telling you as a superior. Wait for fucking back-up”. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hank’s voice was low but forceful. In their sleepy, polite domesticity since the revolution, Connor had forgotten just how strong his partner was. How the line between protective and possessive seemed blurred when he held him still like that. Connor was much stronger of course, and without much effort he’d automatically  created preconstructions of how he could free himself, but suddenly he found himself creating just as many about what it would feel like to yield. To slide himself onto the Lieutenant’s lap, to press his inexplicably dry mouth against Hank’s. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’d shaken it off of course. Hank hadapologised quickly, reddening and grumbling about how he didn’t want to have to explain to Fowler why his partner had been hurt on his watch. But the feeling stayed, and soon Connor had slipped into an addictive cycle of doing anything he could to get that dark glint back in his partner’s otherwise kind, blue eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Antagonising Reed then became a daily occurrence. Connor supposes it’s a victimless crime since Gavin spends most of his time throwing poor robot puns at him, and Hank’s never needed much of an excuse to vent his frustrations on the guy. Connor’s sure he shouldn’t feel like his titanium reinforced legs go weak every time Hank shoves him back with a broad palm to the chest to get between him and Reed. He’s sure he shouldn’t feel his thirium pump speed up to dangerous levels every time he hears the Lieutenant growl at his colleague that “you touch Connor again you’re gonna taste my fist, you got that?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When the fights with Reed weren’t enough, he’d turned to irritating his target more directly. Taking his headphones off his head and throwing them across the room when Hank wasn’t listening to him, throwing takeout in the trash before he had a chance to finish it, but worst of all he’d started disobeying him at work. Each of his pettier bids for Hank’s attention bought him harsh words, a careless shove at best, but the work related offences seemed to work like a charm. A week ago, Connor had left the car against strict instructions to help his partner clear away a handful of ‘Anti-Plastic’ protestors from the door of an android owned bakery. Once they were finished, around the corner and out of sight, Connor found himself picked up by the collar and slammed against the side of the Oldsmobile. He’d barely heard a word Hank had yelled into his face about his irresponsible behaviour, with his body trapped so tightly between the car and Hank’s own heavy stomach and crotch.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What he’d done this evening at the Eden Club had been far from simple disobedience. He’d been outright obscene and he knew it. Hank told him time and time again not to put evidence in his mouth, and Connor had eventually agreed to at least wait until his back was turned. But he was getting bolder in his need for Hank’s attention, and frustrated by every night that passed where neither of them broke the stalemate they’d fallen into. He wanted to push Hank, to make him think of him in a way other than a friend or colleague, maybe finally see that the deviants bad behaviour wasn’t just foolishness. It was a calculated statement. It meant “make me behave”. The case had been simple enough, and when Connor had found a riding crop on the floor of the disheveled bedroom, he hadn’t needed his analysis tools to tell him what the whiteish fluid splashed across it might have been. The fact it was still wet after all this time meant it could only have been synthetic- no need for DNA tesing a thirium-based ejactulation. Still he’d crouched down on his haunches and inspected it innocently enough, picking it up gingerly by the handle and allowing the substance to dribble slowly down the rod. When he’d been certain Hank was looking in his direction he’d closed his eyes and run his tongue upwards through the fluid under the guise of identifying the model of android who left it there. The reaction had been unexpected. Hank didn’t scream or shout, he didn’t even screw his face up in disgust and threaten to puke like he usually did. He’d just stared at Connor, his eyes cold, dark. He was angry, that was clear, but otherwise unreadable. Connor hated when he couldn’t read him, and quickly dropped the crop feeling ashamed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d promised himself today, like every other time, that tonight he’d do some in depth analysis of his programming for errors, and yet he spent most nights consumed by analysing every accidental touch he’d shared that day with Hank. And they </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> accidental, weren’t they? Recently Connor hadn’t been sure. He was certain he’d seen Hank’s eyes lingering on his neck or collarbones when he helped Connor straighten his tie after the first outburst. He was sure he’d noted the man’s temperature and heart rate start to skyrocket on the day of the protest </span>
  <em>
    <span>after</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’d sworn to him he’d do as he was told from now on. Perhaps there was a part of Hank that was enjoying this too. A part that wanted to be rough with Connor, to show him his place- </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Connor was dragged reluctantly back to the present by the sound of the couch creaking. Hank had gotten up, and from the sound of his slow, heavy footsteps he was headed towards his bedroom. Connor felt a pang of guilt. Of course he wasn’t enjoying this, he was making Hank’s life miserable. What he’d done today at the Eden Club had been a step too far. He straightened up in front of the mirror, ignoring the tense yellow pulsing of his LED, and stepped out into the hall. He knew he had to apologise, explain himself. Hank had always been patient with Connor’s confusion about his new emotions, he’d have to trust that he’d be understanding about this. He could already feel his cheeks burn with shame as he turned to face the Lieutenant in the dark hallway. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hank, I-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was rare anything took Connor by surprise. After all, he’d been designed to recognise and react to external aggression before the attacker could blink. Yet all of a sudden he found himself pinned to the wall at the end of the hallway. The light from the bathroom played sideways across the Lieutenant’s face as he held Connor firmly to the wall by the neck. The grip was secure, but not tight, and despite the way the air had been knocked out of him, Connor could’ve sworn there was something tender in it. The broad palm pushed into his throat was warm. Hank moved in close, stroking his rough fingertips from Connor’s jawline down his neck. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Enough” Hank purred, his smirk illuminated in the half light. His eyes roamed over Connor’s face and throat with a relaxed kind of hunger, his gaze leisurely pausing at his partner’s lips. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The task </span>
  <b>‘Apologise to Hank</b>
  <span>’ was quickly replaced by a rush of new data and malfunction warnings. For a moment Connor allowed himself to bask in Hank’s warmth and smell like a cat stretched out in the sun. Cigarettes, coffee, whiskey, a little sweat and something musky underneath. Altogether it was a scent Connor knew well, from stolen hours spent laying in Hank’s unmade bed while he was out walking Sumo. Hot breath on his cheek was quickly followed by the bristle of Hank’s beard as he leaned in close. Connor’s eyes felt heavy lidded suddenly and he swallowed without knowing why. Hank’s voice was like the warning growl of a lion in his ear, quiet and restrained, yet brimming with intensity. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m wise to your little games, Con.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Before he could reply, Connor felt his Hank’s free hand pull his shirt out from his jeans and slip under it. His voice crackled in his throat like static as Hank pushed his palm against Connor’s bare stomach. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Lieutenant, I-“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hank chuckled darkly, dipping his head to let his lips ghost down the side of Connor’s throat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You wanna go back to titles after what </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> did today?” Connor could barely hear Hank mumbling into the crook of his neck, but the words made him shiver and melt into the wall. He let out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a whimper as Hank’s broad hips pressed forward into his. He could feel the wet of the whiskey soaked boxer’s, and beneath them something hardening against his own stirring crotch. Hank’s hand suddenly withdrew from his stomach, and the hand on his throat moved to his shoulder, pushing him down firmly. As Hank took a small step back, Connor realised he was being ushered to get down on his knees. He didn’t take his eyes off Hank’s lazy, half-lit grin as he obeyed, and something in his partner’s eyes seemed to light up in the dark at seeing him obey so quickly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> detective,” Hank cooed softly down at him. A spark of pleasure ran from Connor’s crotch to his chest at the praise. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If you’re so hellbent on misusing that pretty little mouth of yours-“ Hank’s hand cupped Connor’s cheek, and his calloused thumb toyed idly with Connor’s bottom lip. “Then I’m gonna have to show you how to use it right. But first...” He nodded his head down towards his soaked boxers. Connor‘s eyes moved slowly down his partner’s wide chest, along the button line of his garish orange shirt down to the patch of his underwear, sodden with whiskey. The wet fabric clung to the shape of Hank’s quickly hardening cock. Connor’s breath hitched at the sheer size and girth of it, so close to his face. After weeks of dreaming of it, sucking on his fingers and thrusting his hand down his jeans as soon as Hank went to bed, here he was face to face with his own fantasy </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I think you should clean up the mess you made with your bratty fuckin’ stunt. Don’t you?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The thought alone made Connor flushed, his mouth opened on its on and his tongue ran across his lower lip. There was a drop of whiskey running down the inside of Hank’s sturdy inner thigh, and Connor could’ve mistaken it for sweat had it not had a telltale, honey-orange hue. For a moment Connor was dizzy with an influx of preconstructions: what Hank would look like nude, sweat dripping down his back and legs from the exertion of fucking Connor into oblivion. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It took the Lieutenant clearing his throat to bring him back into the present. Tenderly placing his slender hands on his partner’s waist, Connor leaned in with his tongue outstretched. His eyes fluttered shut just as the droplet made contact with his tongue. He shivered. Connor had never tasted alcohol before, or any human beverage for that matter, and the whiskey stung the sensors of his tongue as he licked up the trail it had left on Hank’s skin. But that’s not why Connor shivered. Underneath the burn of the whiskey was a far sweeter taste that made the currents racing through Connor’s abdomen sing. Hank’s soft, pillowy thigh and the wiry ridges of the hairs that grew along tasted like paradise. More than that, they tasted like home. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Connor let out a breathy moan as his tongue dragged up underneath the leg of Hank’s boxers. He could feel the heat of Hank’s groin right above his nose. The soft cursing and growling of the man above him, the heady smell of alcohol and human need filling his artificial lungs. The saturated material gathered at the bridge of his nose as he licked up as high as he could, whiskey droplets falling onto his cheeks and rubbing down like tears of relief. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hank ran a heavy hand through Connor’s hair. Connor allowed the movement to push him back and his eyes flicked open to make contact with Hank’s in the dim light. He’d seen his partner undone before: drunk, angry, even in tears. Yet the face that looked down at him was so wild it was almost unrecognisable. Icy eyes pierced through the dark under heavy lids, half-black with the size of his blown out pupils. Hank’s face was reddening, his mouth hanging open just like Connor’s and his chest rising fast and sharp like the flapping of a bird’s wings. His usually kind, resigned expression had been replaced entirely by that of a seasoned hunter, ravenous and laser-focused. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Connor glanced back down to the warmth across from his face, and lunged forward again. This time his soft lips clasped around the side of Hank’s shaft. He sucked at the thin cotton that covered it, wringing the whisky out of the fabric. His tongue pushed out to try and scoop Hank’s girth closer into his hungry mouth. Hank hummed low in appreciation, letting his head fall back on his shoulders. Connor could almost feel the tension seep out of the older man’s body as he let his tongue explore up the shaft. He pressed his nose into the mess of darker hair between Hank’s gut and his waistband and inhaled deeply. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His own cock was throbbing for attention now, straining against tight jeans, and he reached a hand down to palm at his needy bulge as his other hand pulled at Hank’s waistband. The boxers shifted down on one side, and he was millimetres from seeing the base of the thick cock he’d been craving for so long. He bit his bottom lip, mouth still burning from his first taste of whiskey. He wondered for a moment whether the alcohol was having any effect on him. It shouldn’t, or course, and certainly not from such a small amount, and yet the only word Connor could find for his current state was ‘intoxicated’. Hot cheeks, trembling hands,  unsteady and oh so alive.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hank’s fingers fell from Connor’s hair and wrapped around his wrist, halting him before he could get what he needed. Connor looked up with what he hoped was a quizzical expression but he knew was closer to a desperate plea. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not gonna be that easy, Con,” the Lieutenant purred down at him. His voice was still soft but there was an edge to it now, a barely restrained bite to his tone. He leaned down to kiss Connor’s furrowed brow gently. Connor closed his eyes when he felt lips against his skin and they stayed closed for a few moments after they disappeared. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was locked in a moment of uncertainty and bliss, two things he’d never been built to experience but the mixed sensation rang through him like the cleansing toll of a bell. He took a second to savour it, trying to save all this data to play back over and over again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he opened his eyes Hank had retreated back into the dark of the bedroom, his wide frame barely visible. With a click, the bedside lamp came on and revealed him sitting on the bed, legs splayed wide and cock straining against his boxers. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Connor was frozen, silent like a prey animal caught in the headlamps of a truck. Hank smiled darkly at him from the bed, his body lit up like the ruins of some derelict, ancient temple in the lamplight. In that moment Connor felt vulnerable, human almost, and Hank seemed anything but. The silver hairs on his chest shone where he’d half unbuttoned his shirt and Connor could imagine that humans saw the old gods like this. The ones long forgotten by the time he’d been created. Hank slipped a hand inside his boxers and toyed with his cock, his breath unsteady.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me, Connor,” he rasped “Cyberlife ever teach you how to beg?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
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